


No Good With Fragile Things

by shouting_skeleton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Joffrey's only in the past I promise, Not As Heavy As It Sounds, Slow Burn, Snow, Stranger is a dog, Trauma, but this won't be a long fic, so much snow, the Starks are mentioned but aren't really a feature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouting_skeleton/pseuds/shouting_skeleton
Summary: Five years after Sandor left his job with the Lannisters, he has made peace with his demons, save for one. His solitary life has been haunted by birdsong ever since he left Sansa Stark."There she was: sitting on Sandor’s bench, with a child.Herchild, Sandor realised, taking in the shock of red hair. He stood frozen by the park gate, bird-watching taking on a new meaning- or an old meaning, he supposed. He squinted. No, it was definitely her, though her hair was shorter now, barely past her shoulders. He could go home. Heshouldgo home. Fuck, she was with her kid, there must be a husband nearby. He needed to leave.Stranger apparently held no such reservations, lurching forwards so suddenly that Sandor dropped his lead. Powerless, Sandor watched as his dog bounded towards Sansa."*on hold as I sort out my suddenly declining physical health*
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 32
Kudos: 76





	1. Morning Blackbird

**Author's Note:**

> The short version:  
> Hello, this is told through Sandor’s POV, a mix of present scenes and flashbacks that sees a modern AU sansan reunion, with dogs, bird-watching, and Christmas spirit (but first: regrets, miscommunication, and healing).
> 
> The long version:  
> Hi everyone! I hope all is going well for you. In this lead up to Christmas, I’ve decided to write and post a little sansan fic. It’s a slow burn, and probably not explicit. If you’ve read my previous fic (building love backwards), know that this one is somewhat less fluffy; it’s more of a blend of fluff and realism. My style might be a bit different too, just because I fancy trying something new. I’m quite nervous, but the encouragement from this community has given me the confidence to do this.
> 
> Also, it’s important to note that the entire thing will be Sandor’s POV. I think it fits the kind of hesitant/introspective feel I have for much of this.
> 
> The story will be told through a combination of present scenes and flashbacks, though I’ll be using past tense for the entire story. For now, I’ve just used the word “past” to mark the past scene, in which Sansa is 17ish, Joff 19ish, Sandor is 25ish.
> 
> This fic is a work in progress, so we’ll see what my upload schedule is like- since the chapters aren’t huge, it should be every two/three days. I’m always open to concrit, and I love hearing what you think, so I’d really appreciate feedback. Above all, I hope you enjoy :).

## Chapter One: Morning Blackbird

###  **Sandor**

Leaving the Lannister’s service had been the best decision of Sandor’s life, and yet, whenever he thought of it- often- that familiar surge of regret would squeeze the air from his lungs. He had made peace with his inability to stop Joffrey from becoming a vile little beast; he had met the boy when he was thirteen, and already, things were bad. Nothing he could have done. He had never, however, forgiven himself for the girl. It was easier to think of her like that. A girl. Easier than thinking of her now, how she might look. _Twenty-bloody-three,_ Sandor thought. _She’s twenty-three._

“C’mon,” he muttered, clipping a lead to Stranger before setting off to the park. “Let’s get you out of the house, you miserable bastard.”

Stranger beamed up at him.

Sandor’s miserable little bungalow, with its too-low ceilings and too-small curtains, had really one selling point: on the fringes of town, it was just a few minutes from the nature reserve. As a result, the little park nearby was almost always unoccupied. Who would want to go to a park when there was a nature reserve barely half a mile away? Sandor, that’s who. It was empty. Always. Just a derelict playground, the gate probably rusted enough to permanently stain skin, and goalposts in the same state. Nature was gradually taking over; it was like the world had forgotten about the area, leaving the gates to scream as they opened and the few chestnut trees to guard the edges. If the grass wasn’t still cut every month, Sandor would think the place truly abandoned. The only evidence of humans at all was the bench. His bench. He had bought it, after all.

Each morning and evening, Sandor and Stranger walked to the park, the pesky dog demanding to be walked twice a day, every day. There were two entrances, and the other gate was always closed, so with Sandor closing their gate behind him, he could sit on the bench and watch Stranger race after invisible squirrels to his heart’s content without having to worry about him running onto the road. Or running into anyone. Sandor was waiting for Stranger to grow out of his puppy friendliness, but now that the dog was approaching three, perhaps it was time to give up. At least he was trained. Mostly. He didn’t bark inside, and he didn’t jump up. He knew “basket” and “ball”, and “chicken” and “Stranger, get the fuck inside, it’s raining”. And he definitely knew “bath”, though he seemed to translate that one as “run the hell away”. If Sandor wasn’t such an antisocial bastard, and if those idiots at Crufts weren’t so elitist, perhaps he might train Stranger up and enter him for a show. The dog was bright, there was no denying it.

In truth, Stranger was utterly wasted on Sandor; he deserved better. But to hell with it, that dog was the only good thing Sandor had. The only good suggestion his therapist had made was that Sandor get a dog. Even though it meant getting up on days like this, where mist lay thick and low on the ground and the biting cold was like a shouted reminder that December had arrived, Sandor couldn’t regret it. The lateness of the sunrise, coupled with the mist, would make it difficult to spot birds, but Sandor was hoping he might still be able to hear them. He knew birdsong better than he had ever known the voices of the people he used to surround himself with.

Sandor was… not content, exactly. But he could tolerate living. He had Stranger, his job, and his home. He had birdsong and his guitar, and if he ever felt the world was just too quiet, paradoxically so quiet he was deafened by it, well then, he could just listen to Stranger barking at the squirrels. _That_ was always loud enough to help Sandor shake off whatever nonsense he was feeling. He saw his therapist every month too, so really, he had more than enough.

In fact, his lack of qualms with his situation was evidenced by Sandor’s reaction to finding the park gate open. He entered from their usual side, Stranger straining at his lead, and noticed that the opposite gate was open. And now that he thought about it, Stranger only ever pulled like that when he saw a squirrel, but when he saw a squirrel, he _always_ barked, so what the hell was he---

A desperate whine escaped Stranger.

“Alright, alright.”

Sandor reached down and gave his dog a pat, then straightened up to survey the area.

“I’ll just see what’s going on,” he told him.

There wasn’t much to look at: the gate, mysteriously left open, and Sandor’s bench, and- 

Oh god. It was her. Sitting on his bench, like a vision conjured up from his own messed up mind. No, it couldn’t be. Could it? There was a small figure- a child- running around her. _Her_ child, Sandor realised, taking in the shock of red hair. He stood frozen by the park gate, bird-watching taking on a new meaning- or an old meaning, he supposed.

Sandor squinted through the mist. No, it was definitely her, though her hair was shorter now, barely past her shoulders. Still just as bright. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking her. He could go home. He _should_ go home. He could take Stranger out later. _Pretend she’s a hallucination, and run._ But Sandor had never been one to deny the evidence, and there the evidence was, over by his bench, with her kid. Fuck, _she’s with her kid-_ there must be a husband nearby. He needed to leave.

Unfortunately, Stranger held no such reservations. He lurched forwards so suddenly that Sandor dropped his lead. Still immobile, Sandor watched, powerless, as his dog bounded towards their bench. Towards Sansa. Towards her kid. 

In a last desperate attempt, Sandor whistled once, low, and was duly ignored. _Useless disobedient little mutt._ He walked slowly over to Sansa, relishing in her voice as he approached. She was smiling as Stranger circled the bench, his mouth open in a grin, equal parts confused at finding Sandor’s bench occupied and ecstatic at the prospect of making new friends.

“Look at you,” Sansa was cooing. “You’re a proper little lady, aren’t you?”

“Stranger,” Sandor corrected, trying not to focus on her soft voice, enriched by their years apart, or the slope of her neck as her hair fell forwards. “His name’s Stranger.”

Sansa’s breathing hitched so violently, her neck snapping up so quickly, that Sandor wondered if she was going to faint.

“Sandor,” she breathed, standing up. “Is it-”

“You left the gate open. Shouldn’t have. It’s dangerous. A dog could run out of there.”

There was silence as Sandor waited for Sansa to cower, to duck her gaze as she usually did. But _usually_ had been dragged through the mud, and _this_ Sansa, this Sansa that Sandor did not know, raised her eyes to meet his.

“Of course,” she said, her tone bright, formal, and polite enough to strike cold into Sandor’s entire body more than the December chill. “I’ll be sure to close it as we leave. Thank you for pointing that out.”

The _“we”_ unsettled Sandor for a heartbeat before he remembered her child.

“Right.”

They fell into silence; Sandor failed to stop his gaze from travelling over Sansa. Her style hadn’t changed- she wore one of those dresses drawn in at the waist that flared out into a large skirt, though the blue of the fabric was more muted than what she used to wear. Her body had changed a little- she still possessed her usual elegance, but was somehow more filled out, any semblance of teenage awkwardness left behind. She looked healthy.

Sandor spoke again only as the tension became too great. In truth, he could have studied Sansa forever, but she reached up and took the end of her hair in her fingers, the same nervous habit she had when she was seventeen. _I’ve made her uncomfortable. Great._

“I’ll be going then-” “How have you been?”

Of _course_ Sansa chose that very moment to speak.

“Uh-”

“Oh- yes- I apologise- of course, you have places to be.”

“Mummy, can I say hello?”

“Sandor,” Sansa said. “You’ll…”

Sandor hadn’t heard his name fall from her lips like that ever; not with something akin to longing. No, not longing; it was likely horror. She hadn’t missed him. Couldn’t have.

“Sansa,” he echoed.

From the way she flinched he knew she remembered the last time he had said her name. _It was for her own good._

“You’ll have to ask Sandor,” she said to her child. “But I think he has to leave.”

Sandor finally dragged his attention to the boy, who was impatiently awaiting his mother’s response as Stranger sat in front of him, dwarfing the child, his feather-like tail moving with more power than a speed-boat. The child made no move to speak to Sandor; _can’t fault him for that._

“Stranger’s friendly,” Sandor offered.

Sansa relayed the message to her son, since he was apparently incapable of even listening to Sandor, shying back from him. At least the kid was quiet, and Stranger finally relaxed a little as he was offered the attention he so desperately craved.

“So,” Sansa said. “I- I take it you’re doing well?”

“Yes. Suppose so. You?” He hesitated. “All things considered.”

What little light her eyes still held faded further, and Sandor could have kicked himself. Was she always so withdrawn, or was it the effect of his presence?

“Yes,” Sansa said. “All things considered.”

How, Sandor wondered, when he had so much to say, could he find no words at all? Damn it, this was what came from his hermit-like lifestyle of the past half decade. _Who’s the father_ had barely crossed his mind when _Why did you cut your hair_ barged in, quickly followed by _Did you go back to university_ and of course _Little bird, do you hate me_ was hammering around in his skull too.

Sandor said nothing.

“Do you live nearby?”

_She’s wearing a wedding ring. She’s off limits. Always was. Which rich bastard did she end up with? Her eyes aren’t as-_

“Yes,” Sandor said. At least talking sucked his mind away from unhelpful thoughts. “Two minutes that way.” He gestured behind him.

“I’m two minutes the other way,” Sansa said. “We just moved; perhaps I’ll see you again here. It’s a lovely park.”

Sandor scoffed.

“Sure,” he drawled.

The park wasn’t lovely, and now that she knew he might be here, she sure as hell wouldn’t be coming back. The flash of hurt that crossed Sansa’s face twisted his stomach with grim satisfaction. There. Easy. He’d pushed her away again, and neither of them would have to think about what could have been.

“-going then.”

“Right.”

He had missed whatever Sansa had said, but she was leaving. Sandor couldn’t blame her.

“Goodbye, Sandor.”

_She can say my name now._

“Right.” Sandor said.

With an awkward, closed-mouth smile, Sansa got up.

“It was good to see you.” She paused. “Honestly.”

Then she was walking away.

“Sansa?”

Just one more time. He just needed to see her one more time, even if it was her walking away. She turned around.

“Don’t worry,” Sansa said. “We’ll close the gate.”

She raised her hand in an almost-wave, and the mist swallowed her up.

It was nothing like last time, Sandor assured himself. Last time the sheets of March rain helped Sansa blend into night’s darkness. This time, early-winter fog shadowed Sansa, and it was _him_ that she was leaving. She was quickly made invisible, and Sandor found himself wishing he’d never come to the park that morning. Now everything was ripped open once more. 

**_Past._ **

When he first saw her she had seemed like another complication, another of Joffrey’s little whores that Sandor would end up paying to keep her from pressing charges. But her family, they might prove a challenge, and it was that that made her stand out initially. During his time spent in the Lannister’s service, Sandor had watched Joffrey’s transformation over six years. Sandor started as a general guard for the boy when he started getting into trouble at thirteen. It had been a bad start, and downhill from there. He was constantly hearing about _darling Joffrey,_ and the Lannister mansion was mostly just a bombardmend of endless photos of him as a youthful little cherub, before Sandor met him, before it all started to go wrong. Except, of course, Joffrey could do no wrong. Not in his mother's eyes.

At first, Sandor thought it could be normal truancy, but that stopped fast once he noticed the difference between general boredom and delight. Joffrey wasn’t a thrill-seeking, smothered teen- well, he was, but he wasn’t _just_ that. He took a twisted pleasure in causing others pain, and all Sandor could do was be grateful that the boy never grew tall or strong. Still, that wasn’t to say that Joffrey wasn’t dangerous. With his mother’s money and his father’s influence, Joffrey had turned into the centre of attention wherever he went. Perhaps it helped that he only travelled in limited circles that mirrored the coddling his mother had overdone. On the upside, he had no idea how to apply himself. The most damage Joffrey had done was to the girls; he would pick them up drunk, often, and they would wake to find that they either didn’t remember him, or that they didn’t remember how rough he had been. They never came back.

As he developed, the golden haired cunt’s behaviour grew into an unsettling mix of sexual violence and childish destruction. Some evenings, all Joffrey wanted to do was light dumpster fires and demand shit. Someone was wearing something he didn’t want them to? It was his now.

“Dog, go and get it.”

Oftentimes Sandor would retrieve whatever he wanted, just to watch the boy put on a show of lighting it on fire to show that he could. Other nights would be spent in dark corners of clubs, with Sandor walking the thin line of drunk-enough-to-stand-Joffrey and so-drunk-that-someone-might-notice. Fucking stupid kid. Bloody useless parents.

It was all about power, Sandor decided. Joffrey’s parents held it, and had raised their eldest to see it as his right.

Still, until _that_ summer, all Sandor had to do was keep the boy away from the hardest part of the city, and the hardest part of the city from him. Secure in his own little bubble, safe to cause chaos at night, so long as the chaos was moderated by Sandor and the bloody bastards he called his co-workers, and the damage controlled by his parents' influence. Joffrey’s horrific exam grades had resulted in his gap year as his mother worked to use her position on the university board to wrangle him in. Now it was sorted, and the hell of his gap year was over. One more summer, this time in France, in a horrible chateau with another fancy bunch of bastards: the Starks, and then he would be off to university. University was going to be a shit-show, Sandor was certain, but that was life. At least Joffrey wouldn’t be living in halls. At least his job paid well. There was always his savings. He almost had enough to get the hell out of there, and by god, he was going to. For the moment, he could just about bear to shut his eyes to it all, watching everything with a forced detachment.

But that was before the summer that Sansa Stark came to visit. It was a long, sticky season, spent aimlessly lounging around with the rest of them in their French chateau. The return to England came with damp and coldd and she withered through the winter. She was in Sandor's life for less than a year, flying away come spring, though not before securing her nest in his mind.


	2. Summer Hummingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so excited by this response; 50+ kudos just for the first chapter, and lovely comments, wow! :) Your confidence in this fic is super inspiring and I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter two; it starts with the past scene, and then goes onto the present. It's a really big chapter, which is why it took so long (sorry about that!).
> 
> Also, I wanted to say a huge thank you to YoursPlatonically for coming up with the title of this fic and for giving up endless time to help me with planning. I doubt I’d be posting this without your help <3

## Chapter Two: Summer Hummingbird

###  **Sandor**

Summer in a French chateau was extremely dull. At least the wine was strong and plentiful, and watching Joffrey and the Stark children was hardly going to kill Sandor. Joffrey and Sansa started dating almost immediately, realising that they were both planning on studying law. Sansa even had her sights set on the same university as Joffrey, though the boy was only going to get in due to his mother. By contrast, the girl seemed to show some signs of intelligence, and that made it all the more frustrating that she was utterly blind when it came to Joffrey. For one thing, she was a year ahead in school. Whilst Joffrey had been fucking around for his gap year, she had been securing herself the highest grades in her exams. How she could be air-headed enough to dote on the boy was a mystery.

_At least she’s going to take a gap year,_ Sandor thought. Hopefully it would give her enough time to forget Joffrey. A pretty little thing like her would be snatched up by another guy in no time. Of course, though, she had to ruin her escape by announcing that she was going to call up the university when her grades were confirmed and try to attend the coming September instead. Her parents cautioned her on her excitement, but Sandor watched her father as his gaze jumped between the two and noticed the hope there. Blinded by Joffrey’s act and the childhood friendship between them, Ned and Robert were only too happy for their children to be together. 

Sandor found himself increasingly confused and frustrated as Sansa demonstrated clear signs of intelligence- signs that suggested she really ought to have enough common sense to stay away from Joffrey. Though the girl was a fool, her presence gave more life to that summer than the sun itself. Sandor was torn between praying she _did_ get into the uni so that he might see her after summer, and hoping that she wouldn’t so as to get away from Joffrey before it all inevitably tumbled downhill.

But just as Sandor decided it would be best if the university, prestigious as it was, refused her, Sansa announced that she had in fact got in. The smiles around the breakfast table were universal, only outmatched by Sansa’s grin as she announced that she would also be moving in and living with Joffrey next year. How she could beam at the thought Sandor had no idea, though a prickling thought had embedded itself into his skin. By the end of summer, he finally realised what it was. _The girl isn’t an idiot,_ he thought. _She’s surrounded by finery and fooled by Joffrey’s appearance._ Much like Sandor, the girl had been peddled endless stories each mealtime about Joffrey (usually told by Joffrey himself), and he had only ever been cordial to her. She had never had to see him leering at any female in a ten mile radius, because it was only them at the chateau, and she had never handled Joffrey drunk. The darker side to him was hidden under that golden-boy facade.

_Someone ought to warn her._ It would be easier for Sandor if the girl broke it off now. He would deal with Joffrey’s curses, and a night of chaos, but she would run back to her family and safety and- _fuck this,_ Sandor thought. _No one is going to do it._ He had even overheard their mothers speaking of their future together, as if they both weren’t children. (Joffrey being nineteen made no difference to Sandor seeing him as an overgrown toddler on a constant search for entertainment.) It was up to Sandor, then.

His opportunity came on the last summer morning. 

They had been around each other before, so it wasn’t the first time Sansa had seen him. But it _was_ the first time they had spoken directly to one another.

“Oh!” Sansa said, as she almost ran into him in a hallway. Her eyes widened for an instant, before she dropped her gaze. “Hello.”

“What do you want?” They had crossed paths in the chateau before, and each time, Sansa had moved to the side to let Sandor pass, practically clinging to the old stone walls. There was no need to; there was easily enough room for the both of them, but she clearly felt unnerved in his presence. If she was speaking to him now, she had an ulterior motive. 

The crease in her forehead told Sandor that he was right, that she _did_ want something, but that those precious sensibilities of her were shocked by his pointing it out.

“I was wondering if you might know where Joffrey is?”

Sandor did. He knew that the boy was still in his room, despite the sun having been up for hours.

“I’ll take you to him.”

“Oh,” Sansa said again. “Thank you.”

She was incapable of walking in silence as Sandor led her around the chateau to Joffrey’s chambers.

“I don’t believe I know your name.”

_Is she really trying to make polite conversation?_ Even if Sandor knew how to do that, he wouldn’t want to.

“Don’t need to,” Sandor pointed out. “Joffrey calls me dog.”

“Well that can’t be your actual name.” Her voice was surprisingly steady, though she didn’t look at him as she spoke.

“What do you want with him anyway?”

“He’s my boyfriend. I- I wanted to see him.”

“That’s not true.”

Well, perhaps it was, but that wasn’t the _whole_ truth. If Sansa was surprised at being found out, she didn’t show it.

“I wanted to go out today. I know we’re to fly home in the evening, but there’s a wonderful market this morning, and they only have it once a month. One of the shop-keepers told us when we went into town. I woke early and I’ve done all my packing so that I can go if Joffrey’s free.”

Sandor abruptly stopped walking. Sansa’s chatter, though entirely pointless, had distracted him from the matter at hand.

“Is everything alri-” Sansa broke off when Sandor turned to her, taking a step backwards until her back rested against the wall.

“Listen to me.”

Sandor didn’t care if he was intimidating her. No, if anything, it would be best for her to be scared. He spoke quickly, not unaware of how they would look if caught: Sansa’s eyes wide and Sandor standing too close, shrouding her body from the thin slivers of light sneaking through the windows.

“You shouldn’t go with him to university. You shouldn't be with him at all. You should get out. It’s dangerous.”

To her credit, she didn’t dismiss him immediately.

“Why?”

Sandor hesitated. There was no way to explain without telling her straight, but he was all too aware of the possibility that she would run to Joffrey and tell him all Sandor had said.

“Perhaps you can take more time off work if I’m around to look after Joffrey,” he said. Nerves coloured her tone but there was a little lilt of teasing there too, and it made Sandor want to hit something. _Of course_ she had no idea what he was trying to say.

At his clouded expression, Sansa backtracked.

“I’m only joking,” she said. “I’m not here to interfere with your job. Is that- is that why you don’t want me around? Are you worried I’ll steal him from you?”

_Does she think I’m fond of that bastard? That I’d be_ _jealous?_ Sandor laughed, though it was more of a snarl. Sansa recoiled from the sound.

“Interfere all you bloody want,” Sandor said. “It’s no hair off my arse if you do.”

Both Sansa’s confusion and the colour on her cheeks multiplied tenfold at that.

“Then why did you tell me to leave? Please, if myself or Joffrey are in danger-”

“God, you really don’t get it, do you?” Sandor knew he wasn’t being fair, but he didn’t stop. “ _He’s_ the danger. Your precious Joffrey.”

There was utter silence.

“I thank you for- for your attempts to help, but I am in no danger, I assure you. The Lannisters are friends of my family, and Joffrey has not acted inappropriately in the slightest.” Her voice was shaking and Sandor realised he had placed a hand on the wall and leaned close, hemming Sansa in. He pulled back and turned away quickly.

_Well,_ he thought, as he stalked off, little footsteps pattering after him. _At least I tried._

Sansa stopped her chattering after that, only uttering a subdued “thank you” as they stopped walking.

“Dog,” Joffrey said, as he opened the door. “You’re not supposed to be on duty today.”

Sandor said nothing.

“Sansa, what do you think of him?” Joffrey asked.  
“He was very kind in helping me find you. I was hoping to ask you something.”

Sandor turned to walk away until a shout of: _“Dog!”_ snapped him back.

“Sansa, I’m not free this morning.”

_Liar,_ Sandor thought. _All he has to do is pack his bags, and no doubt he’ll find someone else to do that for him. What’s he playing at?_

“Oh, of course.”

“I’ll loan you my dog. He’ll take you.”

The look on Sansa’s face was quickly smothered, but it was enough to sour Sandor’s mood further. _Stupid dog; of course she wouldn’t be happy at that._ He didn’t bother pointing out that he wasn’t supposed to be chauffeuring anyone around that day- or working at all, in fact. Sandor’s plan of getting drunk in the neighbouring village was quickly slipping away.

“Thank you,” Sansa said. “But I’m fine, truly.”

“You want to go, don’t you? He’ll take you. You can leave him in the car when you get there.”

“I’m not allowed unchaperoned-”

“Then have him follow you.”

There was a pause. Sansa turned her head towards Sandor; he wasn’t sure if her next question was directed at him.

“If you’re sure-”

“Of course I am.” Joffrey flashed Sandor an impish grin, no doubt enjoying how uncomfortable Sansa was in his presence. “Enjoy.”

With that, he was gone, back into his room.

“You don’t have to take me,” Sansa said. “I know it’s your day off and you must have your own plans. I’m sure Joffrey wouldn’t mind.”

“If you want to go, I’m taking you. That’s what he said. So do you want to go?”

“I- I do, yes,” Sansa admitted.

“Come on then.”

The “wonderful market” was a short ride down the mountain in a too-small car down twisting roads. Sandor wound down the windows in an attempt to dispel the heat within the car. Each time he checked the rearview mirror he was momentarily distracted at the sight of Sansa’s arm, curved out of the window, her fingers tapping the top of the car. She wore a multitude of bracelets, her nails manicured and painted sky blue. Her skin was barely tanned despite the months spent in the sun- in fact, the only evidence that the heat was affecting her was the sundress she had chosen to wear, and a pair of sunglasses resting atop her head. Sandor didn’t dare look at her legs as he opened the car door for her.

“Oh, it’s so charming!”

Sandor said nothing, though being honest he could see why it might draw people like Sansa, with endless tiny stalls all claiming to house authentic, local goods.

“What did you have planned for your morning before this?” Sansa asked.

“Would’ve gone for a drink.”

Sansa said nothing after that, meandering through stalls. Sandor kept his distance, catching snippets of French as she spoke, none of which he understood. A young stall seller said something to Sansa that made her cheeks flush red, and she caught a strand of her hair in her fingers. The gesture would have been flirtatious if not for the slight shake of her head and the way she shuffled her foot backwards. She retreated quite quickly after that, and Sandor filed the information away: _she touches her hair when she’s nervous._ As she walked, Sansa kept pausing and turning to Sandor, waiting for him as if he might catch up. She only moved when he was close to her; _doesn’t she feel safe here?_ Sansa’s shoulders weren’t tense, and Sandor could have sworn he heard her humming, yet for some reason she seemed to want him nearby. _Makes her easier to keep an eye on, I suppose._ They were virtually walking side by side when Sansa turned to him.

“Did you buy yourself lunch?” she asked.

“No.”

“Oh. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Meant to be guarding you.”

“Please, I can’t deprive you of food. There’s only one more stall I’d like to visit, so I could meet you by the fountain.”

Sandor stared down at her, eyes narrowed. She didn’t look at his face, but Sandor studied hers. She had some silly idea, he could tell, but it didn’t seem to extend past eating together. _She probably just wants a moment without my constant presence._

“Fine.”

He turned back to look at her several times as he bought himself a basic loaf of bread, checking all the while that she wasn’t traipsing off elsewhere. When he reached the fountain- a dull thing with cracks running even deeper than those in his face- he found Sansa sitting on a bench.

“Would you like to sit and eat together?” She asked.

He did as she said, ensuring that she was seated on his good side. Sandor watched as she brought out her bread and started tearing pieces off and throwing them to a group of pigeons. By the time Sandor had eaten half of his loaf, Sansa had thrown almost all of hers to the birds.

“Did you see that one?”

Sandor shook his head.

“That pigeon there, he’s barely getting any bread because _that_ one-” she pointed to another “-keeps sneaking forwards and taking it.”

“That all your food?”

“Oh, no. The lady at the stall said that this was yesterday’s bread. I have more for lunch.”

Sandor grunted in acknowledgement; the last thing he wanted was Sansa trying to steal _his_ food because she’d thrown all hers away

“Oh my, they’re getting rather close.”

She was right. Emboldened by the bread supplied, the pigeons had formed into a group advancing towards the bench.

“You’ve got yourself a flock, little bird.”

The nickname had slipped out, but to Sandor’s surprise Sansa just laughed, throwing yet more bread.

“You’ll only encourage them,” Sandor pointed out, though his warning came far too late.

“I can’t just _stop_ ,” Sansa said. “I feel like a mother bird; they depend on me.”

“Not for much longer.” He gestured to the rapidly diminishing loaf.

“Sorry,” Sansa said to the birds. “This is all I have left.”

Sandor took the last of the bread from Sansa’s hands and threw it as far as he could. The most keen birds flew off in pursuit, prompting the rest to take to the sky in a flurry of wings and confusion.

“Finally,” Sandor muttered. A glance to the side told him that Sansa was smiling, though why he couldn’t fathom.

They sat in silence as Sansa ate her bread. When she had finished eating, she spoke again before Sandor could suggest getting back.

“Here,” she said simply. “It’s wine.”

Assuming she was asking for his opinion, he took the offered bottle with a nod. It must have been expensive, a strong red with a label all in French.

“They said it was locally made.”

“Probably good then.”

Sansa smiled. Even in the shade of the fountain, she seemed to radiate light. _Stop it. Keep your distance. She’s seventeen._ He shouldn’t have sat down on that stupid bench. Sandor passed the bottle back, but Sansa shook her head.

“It’s for you. I bought two- a sweeter wine for Mrs Lannister.”

Sandor snorted. “If only it could make _her_ sweeter.”

Sansa looked extremely shocked by his words, but Sandor knew she’d say nothing, just as she hadn’t told Joffrey about his warning earlier.

“Well- I- this wine is to say thank you- and sorry- for your having to give up your free time.”

“It’s my job.”

“Don’t you like it?”

It took Sandor a moment to realise she was talking about the wine, not his shitty job.

“I said it’s probably a good wine,” he muttered.

“Then please, take it.”

Slowly, Sandor uncorked the bottle.

“Alright,” he muttered. “If you try some. It’s better than the gold shit you have at mealtimes.”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say that, but before he could take it back Sansa had taken the bottle from him. She took the most timid sip.

“It’s horrible.”

Sandor threw back his head and laughed, because it was the least composed he had ever seen her, brow creased and mouth twisted in a grimace. But then her eyes widened and the sideways glance she offered him had Sandor’s laughter fading. He snatched the bottle back and took one swig and then another, before putting the cork back in. Sansa frowned.

“Do you not li-”

“Calm your chirping, little bird. It’s good wine.”

“But-”

“But I’m driving you back. Shouldn’t be drinking.” _Besides, it’s hard enough to keep a clear head when she’s right here looking like that._ Sandor barely trusted his resolve sober- he certainly didn’t want to push his luck. 

“Well,” Sansa said, “You have my thanks. Both for taking me here, and for your concern earlier.”

“Won’t take my advice, will you?”

“No,” Sansa admitted. “Though it will be nice to know someone when I’m at uni. Apart from Joffrey, of course.”

“Apart from Joffrey,” Sandor said, the mimicry roughened by his voice. He made no effort to disguise his distaste. “Ready to go?”

**_Present_ **

“Ready to go?”

Stranger’s feather-like tail swept the floor as Sandor grabbed his flask from the counter.

“Don’t get excited,” he told his dog. “She might not be there.”

They had gone for their second walk of the day the evening before and Sandor could have sworn that Sansa’s presence was still lingering there. The mist had cleared up, unsettling him further; he felt exposed, no longer cocooned in the safety of the park now that _she_ had been there. Previously, Stranger had been the most lively thing to grace the frozen grass, a shadow speeding across the flat expanse of land. Now, Sansa could appear at any time, and without the cover of mist Sandor knew that she could at any time find him there. And yet the park remained the same- the mist cleared, the sun rose and set, and nothing changed. _Of course not. Why would anything be different?_ Walking the familiar route the day after he had seen Sansa was nearly enough to push Sandor into paranoia, to force him to believe that Sansa was nothing more than a ghost, dispersing like the morning fog. Sandor had almost persuaded himself that she _was_ a fantasy when they reached the gates, but it was all shattered when he raised his eyes to find her there, sitting on his bench with that kid of hers.

“Good morning Sandor,” Sansa said, her voice far too chipper for the early morning. “Hello, Stranger.” It was unsettling, Sandor thought, unsettling to hear her bright voice when the accompanying smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Sansa.” He glanced at the child.

“This is Samuel,” Sansa said. “Sam, Sandor is a friend of mine.”

“RIght. Friends.” _She only said that because her kid is here._ “Uh, hello.”

Sandor’s awkwardness around the child made his interactions with Sansa appear fluid by comparison.

“Here,” he said, fishing a tennis ball out of his pocket. He crouched down to offer it to the boy. “For Stranger.”

With Sansa’s encouragement, they threw the ball, and Samuel and Stranger ventured off to play.

“I should have checked yesterday that he’s not uncomfortable around children.”

It took Sandor a few seconds to realise that she was talking about the dog.

“No, he’s fine. How old’s Samuel?”

“Two and a half,” Sansa said. She worried at her lip with her teeth

“Seems alright.” Sandor had hoped the words would placate her worries- it wasn’t a lie, really. Even from a distance he could tell the boy at least had enough coordination to play with Stranger. He wasn’t sure what constituted a good kid, but there was nothing obviously wrong with the boy.

“Oh, does he? _Good-_ I’ve been so worried. He’s so nervous around strangers- I’m worried he’s picked that up from me.”

“You’re not- I thought you liked strangers?”

“I’m not so trusting now.”

_I can see that._

With a sigh, Sansa touched the bench next to her.

“Would you sit with me? I brought breakfast.”

Sandor sat down, unable to refuse her. Though she sat on his bad side she didn’t seem to mind. Still, Sandor still reflexively tilted his face away from her. He was desperate to know what she had seen that made his face appear less of a nightmare. _Whatever it was, I shouldn't have left her alone to suffer through it._

“Sandor?”

“What?”

“You’re retreating,” Sansa said. “Here.”

_Retreating?_ It sounded like one of those bullshit terms his therapist would throw around. All he was doing was thinking, but nonetheless Sandor pushed the memories down and focused on Sansa. He took the offered breakfast, a queer little tart that was far too sweet and rich for the morning.

“Did you go into town yesterday?” Sansa asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“They put the Christmas lights on. It made me want to start celebrating Christmas already.”

“The only thing I’ll bloody celebrate is those lights coming _down_ ,” Sandor muttered, before realising he’d gone and insulted Sansa again. _This is why you keep your damn mouth shut._

“You don’t enjoy Christmas?”

“No different to every other day.”

Sansa seemed to consider that before shrugging; _that’s new_. In an attempt to apologise, Sandor thrust his hand forward, offering Sansa his flask.

“What is it?”

“Coffee.”

She took it, their fingers brushing, and Sandor was instantly glad he hadn’t worn gloves that morning.

“Thank you. Did you like the tart?”

“Too sweet for me,” Sandor admitted.

“I’ll add less sugar next time, then.”

“You- fuck- you made them? Didn’t mean that it wasn’t _nice,_ I, uh...”

Sansa laughed away his concerns.

“Perhaps you’ll like lemon instead,” she mused.

“Thought that was your thing.”

Her lips twitched.

“It is. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Couldn’t forget.”

“I thought you did. Forget. Me, I mean.”

Sandor shook his head.

“Then why didn’t you reply? You received the letters, didn’t you?”

It was obvious what she was referring to, but when Sandor didn’t answer, she continued.

“At first I simply wanted to write to let you know that I was safe and well, since-” She broke off. _Since I left you._ “-since it was because of you that I was safe.”

Sandor scoffed.

“Don’t.” Sansa’s tone was harsh. “Don’t. I thought that we were-” She broke off.

_You left her,_ Sandor snarled internally. _You owe her an explanation at least._

“Thought you’d be better off without me. Easier to forget if I didn’t write back.”

“Easier for _me_ to forget, or easier for you?”

Another silence stretched between them.

“You know I’m shit with words.” It was a weak excuse and they both knew it.

“I wasn't asking for much. I thought you might be dead.”

“So what if I was?” Sandor snapped. Why was she making such a big deal of this? Her voice was virtually trembling, for god's sake. “Nothing would change.”

“I disagree with that, though I don’t suppose I’ll be able to convince you otherwise.”

“Doubt it.”

“If you thought I would be better off without you, why did you come here this morning?”

Sandor’s response was immediate and defensive.

“Always walk Stranger at this time.”

The look that Sansa gave him was wrought with confusion. She almost seemed to be squinting, trying to make him out; Sandor made his expression a mask, and was punished with a sigh and a sad, bitter smile.

“Well,” Sansa said. “I’m glad you do- it’s nice to see you. Do you mind my being here?”

"I’d tell you if I didn’t.”

Sansa laughed then, a puff of air whitened by cold. Sandor tore his eyes away from her.

“Yes,” Sansa said. “Yes, you would.”

Sandor’s pocket buzzed, and he pulled out his phone to see what nuisance of a coworker was messaging him this time, only to find that it was an alarm. Helpfully uncaptioned, as usual, and Sandor stared at the vibrating screen wasting precious time before he remembered why he had set it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and then louder, “Bloody hell. I’ve got a meeting in town. Forgot. Got to go.”

“A meeting? What for?”

“Job.”

“What do you work in?”

“Architecture. They let me work from home most of the time, so I’ve got to be on time when I go in.” He had already stood up, scanning the park for Stranger. He tried to remember where he had left the blueprints, and whether he had printed the spreadsheet from last night. When Sansa didn’t say anything, Sandor glanced at her, finding her leaning forward with wide-eyes.

“Of course,” she murmured.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. When I imagined you, I could never decide on what job you might have. But I-” She broke off. “I won’t make you late.”

With a nod, Sandor turned to leave. He didn’t dare let her words sink in. If he didn’t block out the phrase _“when I imagined you”,_ it would ruin his presentation, and he was dreading that enough without memories of Sansa as a distraction.

“I’ll see you again?”

“Like I said, this is when I walk Stranger.”

“Good luck at work.”

Something about the openness of Sansa’s expression made Sandor pause. Without looking at her, he spoke.

“I tried,” Sandor said. “To write back.”

With that he walked away, whistling for Stranger and half-running to the gate.


	3. Red Canary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you're all doing well. I've been travelling across the country (not by choice), and I've only just managed to write after several days of doing nothing, so I'm not so happy with the quality of this but ah, it's been too long. I'll hopefully be able to update more frequently from now, since I've got no more work until Christmas :) This chapter starts in the present.

## Chapter Three: Red Canary

###  **Sandor**

“What’s this shit?”

Sansa’s kid wasn’t in the park the next morning, but _she_ was, handing back his flask.

“You left it here yesterday; I thought you might want some coffee.”

“It’s not normal coffee.”

“No it’s Christmas coffee. I think it tastes rather festive.”

She wasn’t wrong, he supposed, but why would Sandor want his ordinary, standard black coffee to taste like a holiday?

“Where’s the kid?”

“Sam’s father is looking after him for the day.” Sansa’s face became a mask as she spoke. “Which reminds me; I’m afraid I can’t stay today. I have to work I have to be doing.”

“What do you do?”

“I illustrate; I’m working on a magazine about-” She broke off, though he hadn’t said anything. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Course it matters, it’s your job.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“What’s it about?”

“Extinction.” There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice rising with hints of passion. “I was hoping to visit the local museum- I heard they have a new exhibit, but it won’t be opening until next week.”

“I could get you in early.”

_Shit._ Sandor had spoken without thinking. _Fool._ _She wouldn’t want to go with_ _you_ _._

“How?” Sansa asked. “Sneaking in? Isn’t that-”

Sandor cut her off with a shake of his head.

“I know someone that works there,” he said.

Sansa’s reaction was instantaneous.

“Let’s do it,” she said, offering him a bright smile. “Thank you, Sandor.”

“Right. I’ll, uh, take Stranger back. You know where it is?”

“I do; I’ll see you there.”

The crunch of shoes on frozen grass announced her departure. Sandor forced himself not to turn to watch her leave, keeping his gaze focused on the area that Stranger had disappeared off to. He took a sip of the coffee, only to shudder in disgust once more. That was going down the sink, Sandor decided. He sent a text to Brienne before whistling for Stranger.

“We’ll go on a longer walk this evening,” he promised Stranger as they left the park, ignoring the dog’s questioning gaze.

“Your friend won’t get into trouble if we’re sneaking in, will she?”

“Not if we don’t get caught.”

Sansa nodded. “It’s a plan.”

Sandor nodded his agreement and checked his phone.

**sandor:** you’re at work today?

**brienne:** I am. Can I help?

**sandor:** Can you let us in?

**brienne** : the museum’s already open

**sandor:** the new exhibit

**brienne:** it’s not quite ready.

**brienne** : Who am I letting in?

**sandor:** me

**brienne:** and?

**sandor:** a friend

**brienne:** just the two of you?

**sandor:** yh

_A friend. Is that what we are now?_

“She should be coming. We can wait inside.”

They stepped into the warmth of the building. It was nothing much- a few dinosaur skeletons welcomed them, and a bearskin glowered from the ceiling.

“Wow,” Sansa said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Brienne approached them. “You must be Sandor’s friend.”

“That’s right, we’re old friends,” Sansa said, not missing a beat. “I’m Sansa.”

“Brienne. Sandor and birdwatch together.”

The look on Sansa’s face was enough to remind Sandor why he didn’t have friends.

“I didn’t know you birdwatch.”

“Why would you?” _Why_ _should_ _she?_ There was an uncomfortable, prickling sensation along Sandor’s arms at the thought. Brienne was the only person he would consider more than an acquaintance, and though she knew little of him, the idea that she could speak with Sansa about him still filled Sandor with dread. _Don’t forget all the shit Brienne_ _doesn’t_ _know about you._ Sansa certainly didn’t look as if she was inclined to tell Brienne anything of Sandor’s past job, but the feeling of mistrust was hard to shake. He could tolerate his life. Sandor’s sparsely decorated home, and seeing Brienne perhaps once a month so he didn’t forget how to function entirely, was enough. His job and Stranger kept him busy. But bringing Sansa into it was bound to create change. _This was a terrible idea._ Only the faint smile on Sansa’s face convinced him otherwise.

“The exhibit itself centres around different eras of travel,” Brienne was saying. “We have one of the only preserved…”

Sandor tuned them out, wandering aimlessly around the cabinets until Sansa called out.

“Sandor, come and see this!”

Sansa was peering into a cabinet with nothing short of awe. Brienne had disappeared elsewhere.

“It’s a dodo,” Sansa said, as if there wasn't a placard next to the bird. “Brought to extinction in less than a century. So sad, isn’t it?”

“They were stupid,” Sandor said. “Didn’t think the birds were all dead so didn’t bother keeping the remains safe.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Sandor frowned.

“The bird?” Sansa prompted.

“Right.”

“I would have thought you might like it, being a birdwatcher.”

“I prefer them alive,” Sandor said. “And the song’s most interesting.”

He settled into a chair as Sansa started to sketch, his gaze trailing across the cabinets before inevitably coming to rest upon her. There was a quiet confidence to her now that she lacked in her youth, and Sandor didn’t know what to make of it. It was coupled with a sadness, too, and Sandor could onlyhope he wasn't the cause of it. In moments like this, however, it was as if she had barely changed. For several minutes Sansa didn’t notice that she had drawn his attention, her eyes flickering from page to subject, deeply focused. When she eventually closed her sketchbook, Sandor failed to look away fast enough. He opened his mouth to snap a reply, but his habitual rebuttals died on his lips as Sansa smiled at him. It took all of his self control not to return her smile, instead tearing his gaze from her _What the hell am I doing?_ He should have stayed away; it would have been more sensible. When he glanced at Sansa again, Sandor found that she was trailing her gaze over him, leaving him feeling as scrutinised as the stuffed bird in the cabinet.

**Past**

“Let’s get you back to the house.”

“Where are we going?”

_I just bloody told you._ Sandor said nothing, taking Sansa by the arm and pulling her out of the club. She was too drunk to put up more than a little resistance. He ignored her slurred words until she asked, voice wavering,

“Did I do something wrong?”

_Yes,_ Sandor thought. _You flirted with the bartender and got thoroughly drunk. You tried to have a good time instead of playing your role as Joffrey’s arm candy._

“Joffrey wants me to take you home.”

“I’m cold.”

“Should've worn a coat.”

“The girls said not to.”

“C'mon,” Sandor said. “It’s warmer in the car.”

That was enough for Sansa to stumble over to the car. She managed to get in, but fumbled with the seatbelt until Sandor came to her side of the car and leaned across her.

“Oh-”

He ignored her squeak of surprise and how her reflexive action was to reach for his arm; her hands were soft and when she didn’t let go of him Sandor tried to forget how he knew her dress looked. Under night’s cover, she seemed almost naked, given how tightly the material clung to her body. Sansa’s surprise faded to a nervous smile as she noticed how Sandor's gaze lingered on her. _Stop it, you absolute dog._

“Seatbelt.”

“Oh.” She sounded calmer now, her chatter starting up again. “You move so quietly, for such a large man. I’ve seen you in the shadows.”

Sandor said nothing in response to her ramblings, too overwhelmed by the sickly sweet scent of her perfume; he buckled the seatbelt, pulling away as soon as the click sounded. Sansa talked endlessly as Sandor started to drive, about how sweet Joffrey was for sending her home because he knew how much work she had to do tomorrow. _Stupid girl,_ Sandor waned to snarl. He was glad of the silence when Sansa fell quiet. 

University was going about as well as Sandor had predicted, though it took him time to realise it. He was busier than ever, and if it weren’t for the little bird, he might have quit his job. His savings would have kept him going, until he found a new job at least. But the girl was there, and he couldn’t leave her, not when all she did was chirp the same song over and over. Gradually, her mannerisms shifted, and Sandor watched as Sansa threw herself into her work during the day, often spending hours in the university library. In the evening, she and Joffrey would go out, oftentimes with people from their course. Girls. It was always girls. Joffrey would never allow Sansa to be surrounded by guys, so instead she was subject to malicious girls, calling themselves her friends as they stalked around like vultures.

It was the Joffrey that emerged under the cover of night that scared Sansa. It was obvious from how her smile grew tighter at that time. During the day, the boy still maintained his facade of charming boyfriend, but in the evenings, when he paraded Sansa around, he was something else entirely. It had started with snide comments about her trying to make him look bad by her poor outfit choices, and then she was a “slut” for prettying herself up. Come morning, he would shower her with affection, enough to make her forget the night before, telling her how beautiful she looked and how well she acted and how proud he was to have her on his arm. Joffrey would pause there, leaving room for Sansa’s line:

“Not as proud as I am to be with _you_.”

And it would be all smiles and happiness and Sansa balancing her time working in the library and with Joffrey until the next night out. She was growing tired, and it had only been a month. For halloween, Joffrey decided they would be going clubbing, so from early afternoon their house was flooded with girls prettying themselves up. 

They had dressed all in matching outfits, declaring that they were devils, with their little red dresses and matching heels. Joffrey had hooked his arm around Sansa’s waist as they entered the club, and he had ordered a few drinks for her. Sandor intercepted a man trying to spike Sansa’s drink with god-knew-what, only to find out when he shoved the man up against a wall that Joffrey had paid him to do it, that it would “loosen her up”. The little malicious giggle that accompanied Joffrey’s words made Sandor want to smash his face against the wall. Joffrey's. And then his own. When Joffrey realised that Sansa hadn’t taken whatever he tried to give her, he just looked faintly disgusted and turned his attention elsewhere. He wanted her quiet, subdued, drugged. Instead, a few hours later she was loud, happy, and thoroughly drunk.

“Take her away, dog.”

And Sandor did.

Their house wasn’t too far, on the outskirts of town, through the traffic and down a few winding country roads. Joffrey had scorned the idea of an apartment, so he lived with Sansa in a house entirely too large for the two of them, far enough that Sansa had to ask to use a car whenever she needed to go to campus. 

“I’m going to be sick,” Sansa announced, as the car swung around a corner.

Sandor slammed on the breaks so suddenly that Sansa lurched forwards. He tucked the car onto the side of the road, the wheels skidding through the mud.

“Get out.” He said.

“I- what?”

“Out of the car,” he snapped, frustration building when Sansa seemed unable to comprehend his instruction. Understanding dawned on him when he finally glanced in her direction, finding panic flooding her eyes as she stared at the darkness outside. _Does she think I’m going to abandon her?_ A fragment of a memory found its way to the surface of Sandor’s mind, nothing more than a phrase, spoken in Sansa’s lilting voice: _“he left me there”._

“Won’t have you be sick in my car,” he explained.

“This is your car?”

Sandor ignored her, getting out and walking around to her side. She had managed to undo the seatbelt by the time he reached her, though she jumped a little when he wrenched open the door. Sandor glowered down at her. She looked entirely vulnerable sitting there, so easily breakable. He took hold of her arm, pulling her out. Sansa stumbled before finding her footing, her chest pressing into his torso for a heartbeat. Sandor stiffened and very abruptly crushed the line of thought that threatened to rear its head, edging away from her. At least Sansa had the sense to tie her hair back.

“Not my car,” Sandor muttered, correcting himself, “But I’ll be the one who has to clean it if you’re sick.”

Sansa nodded. She didn’t look steady. Sandor realised he was still holding her arm, but when he tried to step back, Sansa just swayed into him again.

“Sit down.”

He expected her to complain about the mud, but instead she just knelt down, her chirping stopped. He watched her, barely more than a shadow in the mud path next to the road.

Sandor was barely three paces away when Sansa threw up. He left her, retreating to his car with his phone torch providing a meagre beacon of light.

“I’ll be back,” he called to her, shining the torch around the back of the car before he found his gym kit. Water, clothes, an energy bar, mints. It would do.

Sansa scrambled to her feet as Sandor approached.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, when she saw what he carried.

Sandor snorted at her presumption.

“The food’s for me,” he said, handing her the water instead. She managed a few sips, and Sandor retreated to a gap in the hedgerows, leaning against a metal gate. Before long Sansa joined him, struggling to get up before perching on the fence. Sandor handed her the mints and she ate them quickly, having half of the packet before Sandor reached over and plucked it from her. He pressed the energy bar into her hands instead.

“I thought you said that-”

“Eat it if you’re bloody hungry, girl, don’t if you’re not.”

She ate half, returning the rest to him.

“Why do you drink so much?”

The question came out of nowhere. _How does she know how much I drink?_ The only way she could have noticed was if she had been near him when he was off duty; Sandor was good at hiding his hangovers- so good that he had nearly convinced himself that his pounding head was just his natural state.

“I’m sorry to be so rude,” Sansa continued. “Only I can’t see the appeal.”

Sandor’s answering laugh was rough.

“You’re the one who should be answering that,” he retorted.

There was a pause.

“You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?” His snapped reply served only to prove her point, and Sansa smiled.

“A few weeks ago,” she said. “I- I turned up out of nowhere, and you…” She trailed off, turning to the side in an attempt to gauge his reaction. Sandor was thankful for the darkness. _Shit, what’s she talking about?_

“What happened?” If he didn’t remember, that could only mean…. “Why were you around me when i was drinking?”

“Joffrey and I- we fought. But it’s alright- everyone argues- it’s normal. It’s fine. It was my fault.” _Utter bullshit._ Before Sandor could speak, Sansa took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said again. “I’m sorry. Please forget I mentioned it.”

Sandor clenched his jaw. Whatever had happened, it seemed to only pull her closer to him. He struggled not to relish in her closeness. It was dark, certainly, but as he ran through the last few minutes in his mind, Sandor could have sworn that Sansa was looking at him for some of it. Not at his face, but still. Even now, she was sitting too close to him.

“Do you hear that?” She asked.

Sandor didn’t answer immediately, trying to catch the elusive fragments of his memory. What he did recall was full of gaps, and blurred by drink. He would have to be more careful.

“Hear what?” He muttered. The night air sent the leaves crinkling with sound, the hedgerows stretching for miles all thrumming with energy, hiding life within. That was probably what she was referring to. Then again, it could be the slight creak of the sign that hung between them on the gate, no doubt telling them not to trespass, or something else that would certainly deter Sansa from sitting up next to Sandor in daylight.

“I think it’s an owl,” she said, and then Sandor heard it- some bird making a racket.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Sansa started to shiver. Sandor thought about his gym bag, and how he probably had a t-shirt in there that could keep her warm. It would be an entirely harmless gesture, he reasoned. Since he didn't want her throwing up in his car they ought to stay out here a little longer. But the danger arose when Sandor realised that he didn’t quite believe his own excuses, when he realised that Sansa had clearly started to feel better from the moment she threw up. _What am I doing out here with her?_ Abruptly, he stepped down from the gate.

“Come on,” he said. “You sound better.”

“Where are we going?”

Sandor ignored the hope in her tone. He tried to harden his voice; _we’ve had our fucking reprieve._ Now it was time for reality again.

“Back to the house,” Sandor said. He could have sworn that he saw Sansa’s face fall from the corner of his vision, but he didn’t dare turn around to check. _Back to your cage._


End file.
